Friday, September 21, 2012

Letters from Portugal: In Hoc Est Caritas

This letter is not about
Portugal, but about the actions of a Goan in Portugal. So striking were his
actions however, and so profound the outcome, that they bear writing home
about.

Zé has been spending the summer month
of August in Lisbon, and as summer drags on in this part of the world, so has
Zé. A friend from school, it made sense that when he was not engaged in other
diversions, the two of us spend time together. Part of his romance with Lisbon
involved falling in love with the street cafes, where restaurants and cafes
provide their services at the little tables they place on the pavements
adjoining their establishments. Zé loves nothing more than grabbing a beer,
coffee or lunch at these cafes, engaging in conversation, and people (and
vehicle) watching.

It was in the course of a lunch such
as this, that the incident I am about to report took place. Perhaps it was I
who saw him first. An older man, bushy beard grey with age, skin tanned from
being in the sun too long, there was something odd about him. His clothes were
worn, but there was clearly an effort to look respectable, his shirt tucked
into his trousers, holding a jacket over his arm. As he passed by our table, he
stopped, and inquired of us, with the greatest of dignity, if we might possibly
have a couple of coins to give him for a coffee. Zé is a good soul, and for
this reason looked in his pockets and handed the stranger the seventy cents he
found there; plenty money for a coffee that this man asked for. For some
strange reason however, Zé felt this insufficient, and even as the man was
moving on, called out to him, saying “would you like a beer?” Our elderly
friend did not hesitate twice. “Yes!” he said. “Sit” responded Zé. And so this
man sat himself down at our table.

This is not “normal” middle-class
behavior in any part of the world. One does not do this in India, and one most
certainly does not encounter this in Portugal, that has a caste and class
system comparable with India’s (though perhaps this comparison definitely not
apply to the humiliating manner in which we deal with Dalit groups). The extra-ordinariness of this situation was clear by the looks of the people around
us, and by the question of the waiter, who asked of us when we requested a beer
for the old man; “Is he with you gentlemen?”

Having indicated in the affirmative,
the beer was brought for this man, and since one cannot have a person at one’s
table and not speak with him, Zé proceeded to engage the man in conversation. It turns out that he lived across the Tagus
River. In his own home, he was careful to affirm, but being a bachelor, lived
by himself, in one of the dormitory cities outside of Lisbon called Cruz de Pau. He had two brothers who lived
close to him, in their own homes. He had come across the river, since he
receives his pension on the tenth of every month, and as of now, there was “no
food at home”. He was in Lisbon then, because he would be able to get both
lunch and dinner at the free kitchen at the Church of Our Lady of Fatima near
Campo Pequeno. Rather than return home, he would spend the night on the street
somewhere, perhaps around the great rotunda of Marques Pombal, until the tenth.

At around the same time as this
conversation was taking place, the food we had ordered arrived. Since one
cannot eat in the presence of another without offering them food, Zé shared our
stuffed squid with this man. In these actions, Zé flung open the doors of the
meaning of caritas. The act of
giving; was engaged in fully, with no concern for one’s station, the
impressions of society. It was entirely the act of one human being with the
capacity, reaching out to another in need, and in the process, treating the
other not with condescension normally reserved for beggars, but with the
dignity reserved for one’s intimates, social equals and superiors. Indeed, in
doing more than just giving him some money, but stopping to hear his story, Zé
opened up the space for this man to tell his story in dignity. By using the
word ‘dignity’ I do not want to romanticize his poverty, but seek merely to
highlight the manner in which he engaged with us, sharing a meal, sharing a
story. Departing, after he shook our hands, he left me with one more insight
into the many lives that a rapidly impoverishing Portugal lives. The insight,
and the realization, that when you give, you also receive. It was because I
consider myself blessed for having had the privilege of being at that table,
learning a valuable lesson, that I report this incident.

(A version of this post was first published in the O Heraldo on Sept 20 2012)

1 comment:

From across the ocean, this story was what I saw from my grandparents. I know you feel blessed to have witnessed and participated. Already you are blessed with the ability to describe what you see, and the people of your newspaper are blessed to have you.

About Me

Itinerant mendicant captures two aspects of my life perfectly. My educational formation has seen me traverse various terrains, geographical as well as academic. After a Bachelor's in law from the National Law School of India, I worked for a while in the environmental and developmental sector. After a Master's in the Sociology of Law, I obtained a Doctorate in Anthropology in Lisbon for my study of the citizenship experience of Goan Catholics. I am currently a post-doctoral researcher at the Centre for Research in Anthropology at the University Institute of Lisbon, but continue to shuttle between Lisbon and Goa.
I see myself as a mendicant not only because so many of my voyages have been funded by scholarships and grants but because I will accept almost any offer for sensorial and intellectual stimulation, and thank the donor for it.
This blog operates as an archive of my writings in the popular press.